


Hearing The Unspoken

by jenna221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Desperately unspoken, Drama, Episode: The Abominable Bride, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Holmes Brothers, I heard you, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired By Tumblr, John is pretty damned smart, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Mary is a villain, Missing Scene, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Knows, Protective Mycroft, Romance, Sherlock in Love, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 18:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5712355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna221b/pseuds/jenna221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"What did you say?"</em>
</p><p> <em>John frowns. "I didn't say anything."</em></p><p>
  <em>And, the ever growing knot of worry in his stomach tightens at Sherlock's reply: "No, you did. You said... Which is it today- morphine or cocaine?"</em>
</p><p>Sherlock says some very interesting things on the plane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearing The Unspoken

"What did you say?"

John frowns. "I didn't say anything."

And, the ever growing knot of worry in his stomach tightens at Sherlock's reply: "No, you did. You said... Which is it today- morphine or cocaine?"

Sherlock's lips move in a slow, deliberate way, the words coming out slurred.

"Holmes?" he adds, and if the circumstances weren't so serious, John might have laughed. Sherlock's voice sounds odd and clipped like a bad impression of the old BBC newsreader voice. Sherlock blinks, eyelids looking heavier and heavier. "Morphine...or cocaine?" he repeats, barely a whisper. His eyes close and he slumps backwards, head hitting the side of the plane window.

"Jesus Christ!"

John leaps up, and stands in front of Sherlock. He bends down, and gently moves Sherlock so his head is resting against the back of his seat.

"Sherlock?" John taps Sherlock's cheek. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

"O-out of... the window," Sherlock murmurs, nonsensical, eyes still closed.

John feels no relief at the fact that Sherlock has replied to him. He sucks in a breath, and takes Sherlock's wrist, pressing down on it with two fingers.

"Too fast," John says, and turns. "But, that's expec-"

He nearly jumps at the sight of Mycroft just behind him.

"He needs to go to hospital," John tells him.

Mycroft sighs. "I've seen him worse than this, John," he says, and John can sense the weight behind those words, the cost of admitting it out loud.

Nevertheless, he still shakes his head. "I don't care. You saw what he's taken, that combination could-"

But, that damned list is a near blank in John's memory. How pathetic- he's a _doctor_ , he's supposed to... But, reading _that_ , suddenly knowing that a list actually existed, and what that meant, the forced realisation that there were even _more_ things he didn't know about Sherlock...

John feels like he has failed him. And, not for the first time.

Mycroft rocks back and forward on his heels, then appears to catch himself. "Sherlock..." He clears his throat. "We agreed that- in cases like this- hospital would be a last resort, and only if strictly necessary."

John doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry.

"Strictly _necessary_? Am I the only one reacting like a normal-"

"I am well aware of the severity of the situation, Doctor Watson," Mycroft bites back, abruptly harsh. "Believe me, I am acting with my brother's best interests at heart. And, right now, I would prefer if we wait and see-"

Mycroft's mouth snaps shut at the sight of Sherlock stirring. But, he doesn't wake. Instead, his brow furrows. He is vulnerable, like a child just on the brink of having a nightmare.

"Mary..." he breathes. Then: "Danger..."

John freezes. He waits but Sherlock does not say anything more, his jaw hanging slack. The following silence is unbearable.

"Well, _you're_ popular," John says, turning to Mary.

She has not even moved, still tap-tapping away on her bloody phone. "I know," she returns quickly, but it doesn't sound like she's even heard him.

John's fleetingly dormant anger flares. "Sorry, did I interrupt you? What are you even doing on there?"

Mary finally glances up from her phone. "Oh, just scrolling through the MI5 files. There are a lot of copy-cat Ricoletti cases there."

John distinctly spots that a muscle in Mycroft's jaw twitches. Mycroft opens his mouth, but his phone starts to ring before he can say anything. "Yes. Excuse me. That will be Lady Smallwood." He takes the phone out of his coat pocket, and holds it to his ear. "Hello? Hello. One moment." Mycroft covers the receiver with one hand, catches John's eye, and says in a tone that brooks no argument: "Keep an eye on him."

John's instinct is to snap back, insulted that those words even need to be said. But, as Mycroft retreats further down the aisle, he feels a sudden pang of familiarity: looking at Harry in despair, turning to a distraught but still committed Clara to say...

Stop. That doesn't really help things, does it.

John sniffs, and sits back down in his seat. He nods to Mary.

"You're not really looking up MI5 files, are you?"

Mary snorts, then laughs. "No! Don't be stupid- _no."_ She jerks her head towards Mycroft. "I was just winding His Majesty up."

John smiles, but it is probably obvious even to a baby that it carries not a shred of warmth or joy. Better to leave the acting to Sherlock.

John shuffles forward so he is on the very edge of his seat, ready to spring into action if Sherlock needs him. Apart from how pale is, Sherlock just looks like he's dreaming.

Out of the corner of his eye, John can see Mary smirk. _"What?"_

"Nothing!" But, her lips still twitch with mirth. "Well, you must find it a _tiny_ bit funny."

John wants to scream: _Is this a **joke** to you? Nothing about this is funny. _ Instead, he just feigns ignorance. Tread carefully, now.

"I don't understand."

Mary's smile broadens. "Of course you don't. Oh, stop looking so stressed, John, what's the matter?" And then, her gaze centres, fixed, steady and sure on John, and her tone sounds much more like a threat as she asks, "Worried he'll let something slip?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Thought I was... losing you..."

It is Sherlock who speaks, and John can feel his cheeks burning at the sheer intimacy in his voice. "Sherlock?" he says, and it comes out as a pathetic croak. "You with us?"

Sherlock sighs, and his head tilts dangerously close to the window again. John stands, and places his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, slowly moving him back to a more comfortable position. Sherlock sags forward, limbs loose, slumping against John's chest.

"Easy, I've got you," John whispers. He tips Sherlock back so he is sitting more or less upright.

Mary chuckles, leaning back in her seat. "Oh, you _are_ enjoying this."

John is saved from answering by Mycroft making his way back towards them as he pockets his phone in one smooth, controlled movement. "So," he says, looking at John. "I take it no change, then?"

Sherlock turns his head towards the sound of Mycroft's voice. John watches as the control Mycroft displayed mere moments before shatters in an instant- he stares at Sherlock with undisguised baited breath and... concern.

"Th'slow little brother," Sherlock says. Mycroft's hold on his umbrella tightens.

"Sherlock?" he says. He crouches down a little, his voice urgent. "Hurry up, brother mine. Concentrate."

Sherlock makes a soft humming noise as if in agreement. John avoids Mycroft's gaze as he straightens up. He knows there is a history there, but now still doesn't feel like the right moment for it to be shared.

Mycroft shrugs, and sits back down in a seat at a little distance away from John and Mary. John knows there is something off here- Mycroft's casualness and Mary's cheeriness is too forced. They are an odd mix. In fact, John thinks this is the first time he's even heard Mycroft and Mary speak to each other.

Oh. And, that _is_ something, isn't it?

Then, Sherlock makes an awful whimper-like noise, and John automatically stands, but stops himself from getting close this time.

Sherlock's eyebrows twitch, while his eyelids stay fast shut. "No. No, not you," he murmurs. "It _can't_ be you."

And when Mary and Mycroft do not react in the slightest, John snaps, "What's he talking about?"

Mary tuts. "How should _I_ know?"

John suddenly notices that Mycroft's gloved hand is hovering above Sherlock's forehead, almost touching, but not quite. "This is all in your mind," Mycroft says oh so quietly, and John takes this as a cue to pretend that he's not heard anything.

He sits back down, and ignores the rising feeling of defeat in his chest. Mary taps on her phone screen once more, and John has had _enough_. "Still on the old MI5 files?"

"For all you know, I could be texting Beth," Mary grins.

They wait in silence for a little while, John fixed on watching Sherlock. John's heart aches whenever he sees Sherlock's face twitch in distress. But, it is Mycroft who is now showing the strain, of all people. He paces up and down the aisle in silence, head down, the umbrella creaking whenever he leans on it. Up and down, up and down. And then, just like that, he stops. John turns to look, a question on his lips, and sees Mycroft bracing his hands on two of the seats.

Mycroft must have some sort of sixth sense- nothing would really surprise John, now- because Sherlock's face is transforming with the beginnings of a smile. It is breath-taking, and reminds John instantly of how Sherlock looked during his stag-night, with that post-it note plastered to his forehead. That soft, sleepy smile, the one John knows is honest and true, and never used on clients.

But, then. He doesn't feel things that way.

Sherlock's eyelids open just the tiniest bit, before shutting again. Then, his lips move, but John can hardly hear him. And, he wants to. God, he _needs_ to. For Christ's sake, Watson, _move._

So, John does. Without looking at Mycroft or Mary, he stands one more time and bends down in front of Sherlock. He rests his hand on Sherlock's headrest, and leans closer still. They could be the only two people in the world.

John smiles back at Sherlock, even though he knows he can't see him. But, he can't help it. "Time you woke up, Sherlock."

Sherlock's smiles grows, and it is glorious. His lips move again, forming words that John can't decipher, he is so quiet. And then, his eyelids flutter, and John feels like he can't breathe.

"Pretty damned smart," Sherlock says, fondness coursing through every syllable. "Why don't... elope? ...Would you mind?"

His eyes open, and John's hand instinctively grasps Sherlock's wrist. He just needs to check. But then, he notices that Sherlock's eyes are glazed and unfocussed. Still not awake, then.

Sherlock's hand shifts, and his fingers briefly interlock with John's. His eyes close. "Between you and me, John..." And then, nothing. The bastard just trails off.

Oh, of course. Of bloody course. They never can finish a sentence between themselves, can they?

Sherlock flinches, inhales in one sharp rush, and John drops his wrist in a flash. Sherlock's eyes open again, and even though his pupils are dilated, it is clear that he is- almost- back with the living. He frowns at Mycroft and Mary, blinks, then turns to John, and that damned smile returns.

"Miss me?" he asks.

 _Never_ , John wants to say. _Always. I heard you. I **heard** you._

"Sherlock? You alright?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Sherlock fanart and my meta 'What does Sherlock actually say?': http://jenna221b.tumblr.com/post/136618792755/what-does-sherlock-actually-say


End file.
